Justice
by Dakhath
Summary: A Bosmer thief gets her own brand of justice in the end. Written for Visionary Tales' 1st Person Character Death Challenge. R&R?


_Okay, so: this was written for the Character Death Challenge a couple of months ago on Visionary Tales. I don't normally write first person, but I decided to give it a shot this time. Warning: mild torture and character death ahead. Not sure how I feel about this one. Rate and review?_

-_ Dak_

* * *

><p>"Come on now, elf, you aren't ready to die yet."<p>

He's wrong.

The voice next to my ear makes me shudder involuntarily, and I try to shrink away. He doesn't have to stop me. My arms and legs aren't working right anymore. I struggle to say something, but I can't do more than mumble incoherently. Every breath I take is an effort, and I'm tired of trying. It hurts too much. Everything hurts, but at least the pain is starting to fade.

My mouth is forced open, and a thick, somewhat bitter liquid is forced down my throat. I choke on it, but it doesn't matter. I can feel a gentle tingling and some part of me registers that it's a healing potion.

I hope he was too late this time. I can't stay awake anymore, but I don't want to anyway. 

* * *

><p>I can't remember why I'm in Chorrol.<p>

No, that's not really accurate. I know what I came for, of course, and why S'krivva asked me to go... but I can't remember why in Nocturnal's name I agreed to it.

I trusted that damned cat, I really did. Maybe she wasn't the one who sold me out, but it doesn't matter now. You see, I was born under the Thief. I have a knack for getting into trouble, so even if nobody tipped the watch off, something like this was bound to happen. I should have expected it. I also have a knack for coming out alive in the end, but everyone's luck runs out eventually.

Mine ran out when that bastard caught up to me again.

I'm not dead yet, but I don't like my chances this time. I got caught breaking into the castle more than a week ago. It wasn't so bad at first: They used to lock everyone up together, and fights were never broken up. I got a cell to myself this time.

That should have been my first clue that something was wrong.

Arenar Gratius runs the dungeon here; he has for a few years. I made the mistake of escaping from him once. Son of a bitch thinks he can 'fix' crime by killing off anyone who commits them, and maybe he can, but he's as bad as anyone he kills. He doesn't do it slowly.

Five days ago, Arenar returned to Chorrol. Or was it four? It feels like forever, but it's hard to tell time in here.

I haven't escaped yet, and I don't think I can anymore. They took my spare tools before they shoved me in here, and even if they hadn't, there's no way to open that lock from the inside. I fought anyway. I know I did, but Arenar is the single most terrorizing _thing_in the world. It isn't just that he's bigger or stronger than I am. That doesn't scare me; most people are.

He's just so _calm_ about it. He isn't at all angry. I don't think he's crazy, but that makes it worse. He knows what he's doing. He thinks I _deserve_to be tortured, and he enjoys being the one to deliver 'justice'.

I'm alone in that tiny cell right now. It's dark and cold in here. I think the floor is dirt, which means we're probably underground. My clothes are long-since stained with my own, dried blood. I should be dead, but I'm not: the last thing I remember is having a healing potion forced down my throat. He does that for two reasons. First, healing major wounds like that with a potion hurts almost as much as getting them in the first place. There's a reason healers are still in business, after all. Second, he isn't done with me yet.

I don't want to think about that.

That must be why I'm alone right now. I'm _supposed_to think about it. The fear is worse than the pain in some ways. He could be back any minute.

Will be back any minute. I can't breathe. I don't think I can take any more of this. Magic, a blade... his fists, maybe, it doesn't matter. It _hurts_. It hurts and it doesn't stop.

No. Take a deep breath. Don't panic.

Breathing is still painful, but at least I can control that. I focus on it, closing my eyes again and forcing myself to breathe evenly. For a wonderful eternity, it is the only thing on my mind.

It is an eternity that does not last. The door opens, drawing my attention. I know who it is without looking, but I look anyway. All I see is the light from a lantern, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut and look away.

He laughs at me. It is a quiet, cold sound, and I cringe when I hear it. I want to try to run past him, but I'm too terrified to move. Instead I draw my knees to my chest and keep my head down, as though making myself smaller will help me hide from him.

It doesn't.

I'm being pulled up by my hair, and I have no choice but to stand. My knees and back protest, and pain shoots up my spine. My legs threaten to give out. Instinctively I reach out and grab the arm yanking me up, but this just earns a harder tug.

"Where is the little thief who was so eager to escape just a few months ago?" he mocks.

I know better than to answer by now, but I'm not thinking anymore. My heart is racing and the only thing on my mind is getting away from this maniac. I make the mistake of opening my mouth. "I don't... I can't... don't... please..." I'm openly sobbing now - something I don't usually do - and I can't form an understandable sentence. The meaning is clear, regardless.

My pleading doesn't have any effect on him. At least, not the effect it should. My eyes have adjusted to the light now, and I see it in his face. Before I can babble much more, I feel a jolt of pure agony that I recognize as magic. The spell effect is called "drain life" and that's what it feels like: it feels like someone is tearing my body into pieces from the inside out with a thousand tiny knives. It takes me a moment to realize the scream I hear is my own. My knees finally do give out, but he doesn't let me fall.

He pushes me back against the wall, the hand that had been holding me up by my hair letting go only when his other hand wraps around my neck. "People like you are why the Empire will collapse, Bosmer," he accuses.

I stare at him, wide-eyed, unable to move and struggling to breathe. I don't know what he's talking about. Something seems different. Arenar is usually unnaturally calm about this, but right now he seems angry. I try to pry his hand away from my throat. My lungs are starting to burn and the edges of my vision are darkening. I kick blindly, and I must have connected with something because the next thing I know I'm on the ground again and he's doubled over.

Shit.

I can't breathe. This is my chance to escape - he left the door open! - and I can't move. Can't...

...when did he stab me? I stare at the knife sticking out of my chest. I didn't even feel it.

That's my knife. He stabbed me with my own knife.

He shouldn't have given me a weapon. I yank it out, and I shouldn't have.

All I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat. I try to stand, but I end up face first on the ground with the knife under me. I'm bleeding a lot, but I don't care anymore.

I can think of only one thing. I'm not scared anymore; just determined, but I guess he can't tell. I'm being pulled up again - I guess he wants to look me in the eye as he kills me - but this time that's what I want.

Arenar looks absolutely furious with me. It's strange. I'm not scared anymore. He says something, but I don't understand him. He gets too close, trying to use his presence to scare me.

His mistake.

I grin at him and stab him just under his left arm. His eyes widen in surprise, but unlike him, I was stabbing to kill. We both fall, but he's already dead by the time we hit the ground. I'm not sure why I haven't died yet, but I know it's coming. Breathing hurts so much. I can't feel my arms and legs anymore. I can't see...

...wasn't there a lantern? I wonder when they'll find us... I know I won't be missed. I hope he won't be.

At least I was the one who killed him.


End file.
